Many people have stories to tell.
Some involve really wonderful situations, where love prevails and goals are met.
Other stories are funny, entretaining or even sad.
I believe that deep within us, we all hold a secret that is unique and powerful.
A secret embedded deep within our soul.
I want to share with you my secret.
I want to share with you my tale.
I want to share with you my soul.
It was in one of the darkest days of my life that I was able to see light again.
Walking down a path I had unknown, I found myself in a small village that was just too small to have a proper name.
When I asked the villagers to share with me the name of their village, they would look at me with a confused look on their face and ask me what I meant.
"I mean to say, where am I?"
All I wanted was a name for the place in which I was standing.
And each and every one of the villagers replied with the same mysterious answer, that even though I considered it to be a lie regarding my case, to them was the whole truth.
The name of the village didn't exist at all. Or in any case, if it was to be named, the name of the village was "Home"
What a mysterious little place I had stumbled upon.
I was still very young at the time, and it had been impossible for me to really know which path I was going to take next.
I decided to spend the night in that small place, unsure of what would happen the next morning.
Maybe I would turn around and walk back to my old life, safe and sound by the routine and the old memories.
Maybe I could stay and live in this little place, away from anywhere else and protected by the power of goodbyes and forgotten memories that had faded with time.
Maybe I could just follow my path and allow other confusing places to amaze me and keep me motivated to keep walking until I myself could find that strange place called "home" which I had yet to meet.
I had never considered myself to belong to any place, mainly because I had no memory of my past of being with anyone that could share with me a warm story to keep my fears at bay or just to tell me what my name was.
I had been alone forever, and I was probably meant to keep the role of being the person that walked a path with no name with no one to worry about my past, my future or the moment in which I was present.
That was the main reason I had left at a very young age the dark cold place that had been my safe spot my whole life.
I left and had found myself in many situations, from being robbed and hurt my people with dark shadows in their eyelids, to beautiful sceneries by nature that even I could admire, even though I was not sure what real beauty was in the first place because I was unable to see beauty in myself.
And now, in that dark cold night, I decided that instead of sleeping I would go and give a walk around the village to listen to the stories that the silence would share.
Silence had always been something precious to me.
Silence had been my teacher, the bearer of my name.
Silence was the reason I had not felt alone, although it seemed that for the other people it was the other way.
The point is that I left that warm bed which had been lent to me for a couple of gold coins I had found once, and started to walk around town, touching the air with my lips and breathing out small clouds that would disappear, like my past and my doubts.
Unfinished it shall be, because I have absolutely no idea of what I just wrote. Oh well.
I want to write a children's story.
Is that hard to accomplish?
Maybe I could write the story of that one teardrop from the sky called Crystal.
It IS a silly story, but I'm sure she's a wonderful character that could share with us a good tale.
So Crystal, speak to me.
Tell me your story.
I was not born like you were.
I am not who you believe I am.
I have never walked the path that people know as "life", because I might as well me immortal.
My name is unknown, but I have listened to very beautiful names all through time.
I have adopted the name "Crystal" because it sounds clear, powerful and sweet.
And I like that kind of feeling when someone is calling out for me.
You see, I might look like another human to you, but truth is that I was just the accidental creation of a wonderful story that had gone wrong.
I was never meant to speak, and you were never meant to listen.
But now I am here, and you are understanding my speech.
Maybe it was fate, maybe it was not.
Whatever the reason, I have a lot of stories that could be told.
Yes, I am a drop that falls from the sky.
I have many brothers and sisters that are just the same as I.
We have tumbled down on earth and soared back to the sky countless times.
I have touched the stars and tasted earth.
I have given birth to plants, new oceans and humans like yourself.
I have transformed myself countless times, and each time it was an adventure.
But now I have taken this form, the form of a human that is unable to go back to being water, and I am searching for a way home.
I want to soar to the skies.
I want to taste the ocean again, countless tears from the sky that are the home and secret place of millions of creatures that you don't know about.
I want to be the water that feeds a wonderful old tree that has been on earth for over hundred of years.
I want to be the first tear from a newborn.
All of those adventures, but I am stuck to being a human sharing these crazy stories, and no one wants to hear them from me.
You, however, seem brave and willing.
And I have nowhere to go, and even if you won't listen, I will share my story.
And once I begin, I will not stop.
I have been here from a long time ago, I have seen ages come and go.
I have taken different roles, and not that long ago I was just but another raindrop of rain.
I was making another wonderful trip to a different place, although I must admit that through time I have been capable of meeting the earth as a whole.
No one knows the planet you live in as well as I and my siblings do.
You humans are not aware that we can feel and see you, just like you can feel the rain in your skin.
We are aware of your hopes, your doubts and fears.
And even thought it takes just mere seconds for us to tumble down from the sky, we have enough time to admire the town or the small village in which we fall.
I have seen civilizations that you humans don't even remember that existed.
I was there when a whole island was swallowed by the sea.
I was there when great winds came and took the roof from the head of your ancestors.
Yes, I call myself Crystal because I believe it is a beautiful name.
But what is really beautiful is something that I doubt even YOU will understand.
You humans are so busy acting smart, pretending that there is light in your hearts when all you really mind about is little pieces of paper that mean nothing but to your kind.
Coins of many colors, bounded by different materials, all just searched for to make you life more complete, when all you lack is a little bit more happiness.
Something you can't find with colorful coins or paper, but it seems that your kind is unable to grasp that fact.
Whatever the reason, I must say that us raindrops, tears, sea and lakes know you humans better than anyone else.
And yet here I am, unable to speak clearly to any of you, because all of you are assured that magic is just meant to exist for children.
I beg to differ, and I must say that I am way older than you or your older ancestor, and thus my knowledge is much more broad than any of your old books.
Well, that was just plain weird.
I have no idea what I just wrote.
Crystal era un personaje que he tenido en mente bastante.
Cuando yo era muy chiquita, recuerdo que le temia al agua.
Se me hacia que a pesar de ser algo muy hermoso, era algo peligroso y que a veces nosotros los humanos no le dabamos la importancia o el respeto que se merecia.
No fue hasta que casi me ahogo en el mar que realmente me volvi consciente de lo que era la fuerza de la naturaleza.
Entonces... como seria si la naturaleza nos hablara?
Que pasaria si una gota de lluvia se convirtiera en humano y empezara a narrar su conocimiento y los viajes que ha dado alrededor del mundo a alguna persona afortunada que se cruzara en su camino?
Si me detengo a pensarlo, una gota de agua puede caer en el mar y pertenecer al oceano por siglos.
Pero tarde o temprano se debera evaporar y entonces en una nube se convierte.
El viento sopla.
La tierra gira.
Tal vez la proxima vez que esa gota de lluvia caiga, simplemente se convierta en un bello copo de nieve que cae y se convierte en parte de un hombre de nieve.
Tal vez esa gota de lluvia cae en la india, y es bebida por alguna persona de ahi.
Entonces esa misma gota de agua, ese mismo copo de nieve, se convierte en parte de la persona, pero tiempo despues sale de ese cuerpo humano como sudor o una lagrima.
Y entonces, que sigue?
Lo unico que tengo claro es que la gota de lluvia no ha desaparecido.
Esa gota sigue viva, sigue presente.
Nada desaparece, todo simplemente se transforma.
Si tan solo pudiera hablar con esa gota de lluvia, que pudo haber sido tantas cosas...
No dudo que nuestro planeta tiene maravilloso secretos que aun no hemos descubierto.
Y aunque escribo todo esto de la manera mas apurada y sin tener claro cual es el punto o la conclusion a la que quiero llegar, tambien debo de admitir que poder escribir esto me libera de cierta manera.
Tengo tantas ideas escondidas en mi cabeza que simplemente expresarme de manera escrita me ayuda a sacarlas, incluso si son ideas incompletas o completamente raras.
Un hombre que se pierde en un pueblo sin nombre, una gota de lluvia que toma forma humana....
Que otras historias se esconden dentro de esta mente mia?
Me pregunto que sentiran los rayos del sol.
Me pregunto como sera la vida de una rana.
Me pregunto como es que la luna no se marea de dar vueltas.
Me pregunto si nosotros mismos no tendremos galaxias escondidas en nuestros ojos, aun sin ser descubiertas pero existentes aun asi.
Siento que hay tantas cosas maravillosas que podrian ser descritas con la palabra, pero que aun no he descubierto porque no me encuentro ni en el momento adecuado ni con la idea totalmente formada en mi mente.
Ya me canse de tener las cosas inconclusas, asi que es por eso mismo que me obligo a escribir todo lo que pueda en un tiempo reducido.
Por ejemplo, tengo que levantarme a las 5 am y debo de admitir que estoy agotada.
Ni siquiera una hora he tenido para escribir estas palabras confusas que se presentan en mi pantalla, y aunque quisiera no me encuentro con la suficiente fuerza como para verificar que son suficientemente buenas.
Pero poco importa la calidad de la palabra, de la idea o de la forma.
Nunca sera perfecto, porque yo soy muy exigente y porque la perfeccion en si es imperfecta.
Al menos ante mis ojos.
Asi que simplemente guardare esto escrito en algun lugar seguro, como mi livejournal, y esperare a la proxima vez que tenga tiempo libre para ponerme a escribir y desvariar sobre misterios e historias inconclusas de nuevo.
De momento, me retiro a descansar.